Archive for the Joe the Plumber Category

This from a friend, via text message: “Got to school an hour late due to having sex and it’s throwing my entire schedule off. Clothes that got me laid = bath towel.”

Update on Joe the Plumber: Remember the challenge I issued to him? He never responded to it, he ignored my sage advice to stop showing up everywhere in a sweatshirt and baggy jeans, and apparently, he is still stressed out.

A church sign I drive past on the way to my house is claiming that A CHRISTMAS WITHOUT CHRIST IS NO CHRISTMAS AT ALL. I am sure many of my readers disagree with that sentiment; instead, many of you might feel that a Christmas without hot gay sex is no Christmas at all. Does that make you any less of an American? No! There’s no red America and blue America; there’s no “real” America and “fake” America. Our union was founded on the idea of personal freedom. Whether your lifestyle is based on a tight-knit nuclear family, a loving gay relationship, or going to Paris and screwing a bunch of 90-year-old whores like Ben Franklin did, nobody has the right to put down your values.

So if you hate going home for the holidays because it’s so boring, perhaps you can take inspiration from today’s story. “Walter” describes himself as “a bisexual, atheist, vegetarian, college student, liberal South Carolinian. Thought it was a stereotype until you got to that last bit, uh huh.” Oh, no! This country’s demographic map is shifting! The Republican party has lost the trust of the citizens! The only way to get Walter to understand traditional “South Carolina” values is for William Kristol to write another of his insightful articles. William Kristol had better hurry, because Walter really needs it:

“I was visiting my dad over Thanksgiving break and quickly grew weary of my stepmother, who has hair resembling calcified 7-layer dip. I went over to a friend’s apartment to have a few drinks, one of these never-left-the-hometown wretches who ends up working at a CostCo ‘distribution center,’ suddenly drops the ‘g’ off of the end of every word, and develops killer abs.”

Walter explains that “we were good friends in high school who grew apart during college. It got awkward with him for a number of reasons — we only really saw each other when we were going to hook up, and he has turned into a bit of a stoner over the years (not my style).” But Killer Abs texted him at 10 p.m. asking him if he wanted to come over for a few drinks, and he ended up going over there a few hours later.

Over at the apartment, under the influence of “a few too many Svetka and tonics,” Walter “made the first move. We were watching TV in his living room and it was clear neither of us was incredibly interested in what was on. I suggested that we move upstairs and he was happy to oblige.” These small-town guys “ended up doing some not-so-small-town sorts of things. This is all unbeknowdst to my frat-tastic college boyfriend, with whom I was supposed to spend the day (albeit secretly) just a few hours later.” Here’s Walter had on:

This picture makes me very nervous, and I don’t much care for it. However, I suppose that’s what “killer abs” really look like.

American Apparel white t-shirt

That’s more like it!

Walter concludes, “I didn’t end up seeing the boyfriend until the next day. Everything’s been fine. He’s a great guy. I don’t think Killer Abs was a great idea, but it is what happened, and it was pretty hot. Killer Abs, for the record, was wearing jeans, a white t-shirt, and a pair of tennis shoes (he had worked earlier in the day). Blue collar chic? Is that a phrase?” I would think so, yes, but when I did a Google image search on “blue collar fashion” I came upon this, one of the least blue-collar looks of all time:

Submissions to my Halloween Costume Story Contest so far have been sparse, so there’s still time to send yours in. I have the sense that with all the political issues and economic chaos going on in this historical moment, people are too distracted to think much about the clothes that got them laid. Americans are feeling like fashion and the sex it facilitates are trivial concerns, remote from the weighty issues that face us today. I can prove that’s not true. Look at “Joe the Plumber.” That guy just needs to get laid. You can see he’s much too tightly wound. He’s all angry about a three percent tax increase he might have to pay, if he starts earning over $250,000 a year. Joe the Plumber is refusing to say who he’ll vote for, trying to be all mysterious and make everyone pay attention to him. Why? Because Joe the Plumber is lonely and desperate for human contact. If Joe the Plumber were having great sex, he would not need to act this way. He would be relaxed and confident, able to take life one day at a time. Lots of McCain supporters probably share his plight, but more relevantly for my purposes, Joe the Plumber is a sloppy dresser. Look at the picture below; no one is impressed.

No scrubs

I have a feeling that Joe the Plumber (real name: Joe Wurzelbacher, short for Samuel Joseph Wurzelbacher) is the type of guy who googles himself a lot. (LOL, double entendre.) He’s probably reading this right now. What I have to say next goes out directly to him. Joe the Plumber/Joe Wurzelbacher, if you contact me, I will give you a FREE Clothes That Got Me Laid wardrobe consultation. I will advise you of what you’re doing wrong, and offer detailed suggestions for improvement. I make this offer for two reasons: (1), I think it will benefit you to relax and stop being so angry about Obama’s tax plan; and (2), I think all the free publicity will benefit me as I grow my million-dollar wardrobe consulting business. Joe the Plumber, write to me at Stuffwhitepeoplehate {at} Gmail.com, and we will get started.

“Jack,” the subject of today’s story, nothing like Joe Wurzelbacher. He’s the COO of an alternative fuels company in San Francisco, and the proud owner of a Holy Grail clothing item. It all began in 2003, when Jack was getting an MBA at Stanford. At the time, he and his classmates had a bi-yearly tradition of going on weekend trips to Las Vegas. They would get cheap flights on Southwest Airlines, party all night at clubs, and then fly back, sometimes just 24 hours or less after they arrived. One of these trips took place on Halloween, so everyone brought costumes. He got a special shirt for the occasion, a pleated peach tuxedo shirt from the 80’s that he bought at a fancy vintage store. (Similar items pictured below.)

Pink tuxedo shirt

Another one

He and his friends arrived on Halloween night (Friday) and went out dancing at clubs. While he was there, he ended up making out with one of the women on the trip. He must not have been that crazy about her, because he and some of the guys left the club at three, went out to strip clubs, and didn’t come back until 5. (Incidentally, what is up with b-school students partying like R. Kelly? You never hear of people studying for, say, a Ph.D. in philosophy comporting themselves in this manner. Ph.D. students need to step up their game.) After they returned to the same club, he ended up taking one of his classmates back to his hotel, but it was a different woman. What was wrong with the first one? Apparently the second one was better, or seemed so “with more alcohol.”

Three years later, living in San Francisco, he wore the shirt on another memorable night. He had moved into an apartment on Alamo Square after responding to a Craigslist “roommate wanted” ad. Two months after he moved in, he and his two female housemated decided to host a Day of the Dead party. (He claims that Day of the Dead is “more debaucherous than Halloween”). During his time there, he and his housemate “Janet” had been flirting heavily, and once the party started, it became clear that “something was going to happen.” Janet was all up in his grill, but he was getting vibes from “Chrissy” too — she was nibbling his ear. He was “very interested” in Janet, not so much in Chrissy. Many drinks later, the two women were sitting on the sofa with him and making out with him. Chrissy warned him that “we can’t hook up with you — we made a pact.” Apparently this was true, but such pacts mean the opposite of their stated intention. If you didn’t really, really want to fuck someone, you wouldn’t need to swear a solemn oath not to do it. Gentlemen, if any women ever tell you they have a “pact” not to sleep with you, you are about to get some poontang.

As soon as Chrissy got out of the way, Jack and Janet started making out on their own, totally hiding from her. Janet was still reluctant to hook up with him, though, worrying that “you just want to get me in bed.” He assured her this wasn’t true, and said that he would move out of the apartment if he could date her. This unexpected seriousness impressed her. That night he “moved into her room, and never moved out.”

Chrissy wasn’t happy about this at all. She spent the first week or two of their couple-hood in a huff, barely leaving her room. Jack attributes this to “a tad” of hurt feelings on her part, plus “a power dynamics thing.” A year later, Jack and Janet got their own place, and they’re now engaged! Yay. You hardly ever hear of couples who were roommates first, but that’s how my parents got together, and they have been married for 30 years.

Finally, a word on the shirt. Jack says it worked because it “generated attention,” and because he wore it on occasions that were “designed to be over-the-top.” This is what those dudes in the PUA community mean when they talk about peacocking. Wow, it works. I always knew world-famous pickup artist Mystery was on to something.